Work Text:
Tony didn’t want to be back here.
He stared glumly up at the white facade of his parents’ house as it approached, the huge front porch, the absurd columns, the careful flowers at the foot of the front steps, the patio furniture he was sure nobody ever sat in.
The front lawn had always been dozens upon dozens of feet of tidy green grass- perfect, wellkept, boring. He’d never played out here.
He hadn’t ever planned on coming back here. Not after how he’d left it. That had been nearly twelve years ago.
A chill autumn breeze crept up the drive, slipped in the window, and tapped him on the shoulder; he shuddered involuntarily. Parking, he considered his options. “I need air,” he said abruptly. Getting out, he leaned heavily against the car. He heard a car door slam and the sound of the trunk opening, but he couldn’t look away.
They’d argued the last time they’d all been together…
He could almost see a version of his younger self, ghostlike, storming down the front stairs. What had his car been back then? That old blue shit box his father had hated so much. He could still remember what it had felt like, throwing his suitcase in the backseat and getting in behind the wheel. Driving down the driveway, he’d felt only victory, the sense that he was free at last from all the expectations.
It was at the end of the long driveway that he’d felt the first tendrils of fear curl around his heart. He’d had no clue where to go.
But…
He’d made it out, hadn’t he?
Dad had reached out a year later when things had calmed down and Tony had accepted a role in the research and development section, but their contact was limited to work stuff. His mom had sent cards on holidays and birthdays. He’d left them largely unanswered. He felt he didn’t owe them anything. Not if they couldn’t accept him as he was.
And now here he was, back again.
Things were different. He wasn’t the same angry, young man. Or was he?
He knew if he turned and looked down the driveway, there would be twenty elm trees lining the private drive. Hedges around the fountain he’d parked beside. His dad’s Morgan was undoubtedly in the garage.
Jarvis had been dead a year. That hurt.
He felt paralyzed. Coming back here had been a mistake.
He’d been sent away to a boarding school when he was ten, and he’d spent so much time away that coming home had always felt just as odd as settling into a new school each fall had felt. In it’s own way, it had just been one more building, more of a way station than a destination.
The prep schools had always been far away- too far to visit on a regular basis. He liked it best when Jarvis came to collect him; the old Englishman would bring him his favorite candy and a blanket if it was a cold month, and they’d talk about all sorts of things, the war, Ana’s dance lessons, Jarvis’s childhood, what they’d done on their last vacation, and Tony.
Jarvis had always wanted to know everything about Tony. Who his friends were, what classes he was taking, how he spent his free time, if he was happy…
The longer the drives to and from the prep schools though, the more his father felt that he couldn’t spare Jarvis. Instead, he’d hire a driver, some polite, quiet, deferential type that insisted he sit in the backseat and wouldn’t talk to him the entire way home.
Never quite sure who would be picking him up, Tony had made a practice of packing his walkman and some comics; he’d block these long car rides out until the driver tapped lightly- finally- on the divider, and then it was time to get out.
His stomach always had given an unpleasant turn at the first glance of the Stark mansion. Home. Technically, it was home. They’d lived there for long enough. But it had never felt quite… Safe? Was that the word?
Teenage Tony would get out of the limo and stand in the circular drive while his father’s driver unloaded his bags from the car. He’d tried to help once. Dad had scoffed at him. He’d never done that again. But he’d felt bad. He could carry his own bags.
His later years, when he came home, he’d stand with his hands jammed into his pockets and delay going in for as long as he could.
Cause he knew what was waiting in there.
Marble floors and velvet curtains. Mirrors making the rooms look somehow even larger than they already were. Making them look emptier. Antiques nobody was allowed to sit on. And his parents. The biggest antiques of them all.
Jarvis was the one who usually called him in. “I wanted to come get you, Tony,” he’d say. And things would be better than. His father’s butler had always known the right things to say, the things that Tony needed to hear. He’d come to the door, a faint smile on the older British gent’s face, and he’d gesture to Tony.
Tony would slip into the house, quiet as he could be and Jarvis would abscond with him to the kitchen, where he and Ana carefully examined him for changes. “Edwin, he’s so skinny-” and “He’s shot up another inch, this is unbelievable. We can’t be dance partners if you keep growing, Anthony.”
As long as the Jarvises were there, he felt like someone cared. He’d sit in the kitchen while Ana made gnocchi. Or follow in the butler’s wake when he tidied up. Jarvis never let Tony help with the housework but Tony had always understood it was for different reasons than with Dad and the chauffeur.
They were so different from his parents… He couldn’t believe they’d be the ones to be gone now, leaving behind parents who had never understood or wanted him. It hadn’t seemed fair. He’d cried for hours the night he’d found out.
Mom and Dad had always operated in their separate spheres- Dad in his office, no matter what time of day Tony came to call it seemed. Mom languished in the parlor.
Treading through the quiet rooms of the mansion, he’d always wondered, ‘Do they even love each other? Did they ever?’
‘And,’ his thoughts would continue, ‘had they ever loved me?’
It was too quiet. That’s what he’d always hated about it. In that large, silent house, he was always too loud, too young, too… Too much.
Dad had been away a lot in the later years and that had made it easier. Off on SHIELD missions or looking for Steve Rogers- an irony not lost on Tony- and he’d missed many birthdays and holidays, school events and small moments. Mom seemed lighter in those moments where he was gone, more loving and open. Playful even.
Tony’d sleep on the couch by the piano and she’d sing her songs. He’d close his eyes and pretend she was singing to him.
It had been lonely in there.
Christ, but he hadn’t thought of his old home in years. He’d locked those memories away somewhere in the back of his mind where all the old hurts went. And that had been okay.
Until today.
He stood in the old driveway, hugging his elbows. He could almost hear his mother’s voice- ‘Don’t hunch, Tony. That’s bad posture.’ He snorted.
The hedges in front of the house were thicker, but the rest of the house had stayed the same. Same front door, same feeling of foreboding. He hesitated. “What if I’m making a mistake, coming back here,” he whispered.
“You’re not.”
He licked his lips nervously. “They haven’t talked to me in years.”
“They reached out now.”
He looked at his husband, leaning patiently against their car. A 1967 Chevy Camaro Tony had spent last summer fixing up special for Steve. He stepped closer to the car, having half a mind to grab the keys and make a run for it. His mouth was unusually dry. “Can I hold Pete?”
Steve flashed him a smile, brilliant and sweet. “Course. He prefers to be in your arms anyways.”
Tony didn’t have a quick retort for that, something he knew was unusual for him. Instead he cradled their baby gently, making sure to support his head. Pete blinked up at him, all baby fat and drool and curly brown hair that didn’t quite match either of them. “I’ve got you, Petey. I won’t put you down once, honey.”
“It’s going to be okay, Tony. You’ve got me and Pete this time around.”
“Yeah…” He felt like he was going to be sick. He bounced Pete in his arms. The baby gurgled, Tony gulped. “I can do this.”
Turning on his heel, he was surprised to find the door had opened while he’d had his back turned. He stumbled back and Steve steadied him, his hand on Tony’s lower back. “Got you. It’ll be okay, Tony.”
His parents were waiting for him on the steps. He held Peter protectively against his chest. He had one last moment to think- absurdly- ‘they’ve never come to the front porch before,’ and then the moment had passed and Steve was steering him towards the house.
“Oh, Tony, you came back.”
His heart was in his throat. “Hi, mom,” he whispered.